By the time the surveyor ‘d stuck the stake, making their claim on a feast that’d spanned seas & centuries, the bird was well cooked. They shared it amongst themselves in good spirits and chucked the rest in the receptacle. Later, Johnny busted bald bi-ped’d buzzards out back behind the kitchen trying to steal the remains from the bin and shepherded them to a cage in town where they could contemplate the wrongs of their rudely ravenous dumpster diving and sleep it off.Outside and down the road a piece, they’d been using water pumped in from Flint to blast the Indian-givers a wake-up call. No sleep for the greedy. This soiled solution was a fix from aquatics, differently developed strains at either end of the passage, from ancient mechanics to steady the flow toward the top of the pyramid, to hydrologeology to leach from each every drop.
The crowd control was a military discipline, evolved for efficiency. Besides the blown frozen flesh, upon every rock, standing or prone, canines ripped through to splintering bone. The politics were well expedient, too much going on and into the pockets of the good guys to extract mere mention. The system pure economics, the global currency green. The end of history. The best of all possible seen.
Back at the ranch, the science of erstwhile cathoded concussion still illuminated the proportionally peaceful proceeding of pie filling potbellies. The Bankers’ President had pardoned the turkey, tens of thousands more of them’d just come down with the flu as many miles away in the land from which this town of Bismarck had its name. Now’d be too opportune for their final solution. Everybody’s watching TV and they don’t broadcast that on TV. Even if they did, nothing to be done. The stuff’s gotta get to market. 11 to 9 Lions. Always the Lions. And with the oddest outcomes. Next up Cowboys. The human’s last stand. The Lord is my shepherd. He maketh me to lie down.
With that in mind, listed here are various reinterpretations based on the outcome, which I obviously didn’t think was gonna happen and is the thing I was wrong about… demonstrably:—Everything is as the simplest would see: a militarist corporatist beltway insider was rejected for a corporatist wanna-be militarist beltway insider, or, if you’d rather, place any bit of that some other way round. It doesn’t matter. Relevant here is the fact that the Democratic Party fielded the worst possible candidate. That, or blame Blacks.—Everything is as the “they’re all bums” crowd would have it: In spite of largely disfavorable coverage of candidate Trump in the mainstream press and, if to a lesser extent, favorable coverage favoring candidate Clinton, brand GOP beat brand Democrat once again. Relevant here is that in spite of overwhelming negatives presented in the coverage of Donald Trump — coverage that filled the sheets tabloid & broad — the candidate the Democratic Party chose to feature was a disaster. That, or blame it on the voters, or some pet representation thereof.
—The owls are not what they seem. In spite of being as well-connected as anyone, selling out to big money in a broad range of industries related to the most important interests of the American and international elite, despite selling her soul to deep politics apparatchiks whose DNA slithers forward from the Nixon Administration, which irrespective of scandal & disgrace, is pretty well-connected lineage (see the Admins of Reagan and two Bushes, particularly the un-indicted), despite receiving endorsements from all the same and then-some, the ultimate decision-makers balked in the biggest way.
Just when I thought it was gamed for the slam dunk, insured for there to be no other electable choice. The crowning of inevitability. It became ‘not to be’. I can imagine the clandestine meeting with the GOP nominee where he was asked if he’d be ready for the job — having been hipped to the seriousness of what’d be expected of him — before the decision was made to stab her in the back. Again. That‘s gotta sting.
This might be an appeasement of sorts, a matter-of-course correction, the indication of which would have been trumped with the Donald’s threat not to concede a loss. Dared domestic street strife of the chaotic kind beyond what had been already unleashed had to have been a concern for someone interested in the relative calm of the apparently acceptable number of police shootings. I loathe to be one of those omen prognosticators, but I do fear the emboldening of law & order in their obvious hunting down whoever they feel like. But we knew this prior to Choice 2016, didn’t we?
Don’t feel that it’s your duty to nod in approval as doom prognosticators you’d never imagined as such fore-state the sure spiral into an as-yet unknown abyss with certainty of lurid procedural detail, as if they’d been policy-wonk sleepers who’d awoke today awoke. You have the right to remain silent in the awareness that President-elect Verdict still has two months to be shown the ropes before he starts sentencing.
What does the lore of great American political tradition say about how many Tuesdays until the P-elect sits in with the incumbent on Kill List Tuesdays?
Be warned: if you forgo your right and choose to engage your interlocutor on that issue you’ll likely discover the certainty that this day will be expanded to include Wednesday as well probably, or maybe Monday as a bridge to include the weekend, when Don, as you’ll be told, won’t even be there, but rather globe & golf gallivanting in the jet your taxes pay for, leaving his Joint Chief to do the dirty decisioning. Why? is anyone’s guess, as all world alliances are going to be officially over.
There is no “now” you see. There never was. Even with the election over, there is no problem with today, only tomorrow. Our international environmental agreements were wholly on target, scheduled to fix climate change. Now all that is going to be destroyed and the earth will be overrun with the great-big carbon footprint exclusive to Trump voters’ trucks.
The current president is not deporting anyone, in spite of the numbers that indicate otherwise. The math is complicated. In January, those numbers will become people!
The current justice department is holding all police officers to account for shooting unarmed Black people. They’re just doing it by letting the local systems run their course. He’ll prosecute them even less than that!
And so on.
But take heart Democrats. The day after tomorrow maybe you’ll be allowed to elect a nice face to paste over whatever is to come, at which point you’ll be able to, Hallelujah!, stop complaining about it. Until then you get to see the other side of what, if we’re honest, so appropriately fits America’s image. A reality star who more appropriately fits the current reality, as a matter of fact.
This feels ironically like a matter-of-course correction correspondent to eight years ago. Hope & Change for the crowd who mindlessly hate on the Incumbent the way his adherents mindlessly love on him. Both parties gotta live. And every four-to-eight years this talk of the demise of the one or the other.
I feel sorry for the conned. Which is just about everybody. But just like everybody, I feel sorry for some more than others.
But the connotation of the metaphor as it relates to the probability of future events seems more, well, bound. Highly likely, at any rate, and, as we head off further into the future with the thing in question still not having happened, then more-so, unless it was never bound to begin with.